


Realization

by Bebedora



Series: He Must Break (Before He Can Heal) [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, breakdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebedora/pseuds/Bebedora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Companion piece to He Must Break (Before He Can Heal)]  Reality hits like a fist to leather.  Grief takes many forms, and everyone deals with it in their own way.  Jim is no different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Realization

 

Realization 

                Nothing felt better than punching the living hell out of something. Especially when that something couldn’t fight back.

Jim Kirk stood in front of the heavy bag in the _Enterprise’s_ gym, landing blows left and right. Every time his fists made contact with the smooth leather, it felt as if some of his rampant emotions were transferred into the bag. It just hung there, taking every jab Jim threw at it, never swinging more than an inch or so in any direction.

One day had passed since his mother’s memorial service on Earth. In that time, he had busied himself with the goings-on of the ship, trying desperately to forget about everything that had happened in the past week.

_It’s over and done with._

_No use dwelling on it._

_Back in the saddle, Captain._

So, taking his own advice, he had dived back into his life as Captain. The crew knew what had happened to his mother, and had been respectfully distant to him before her service. When he had returned to the ship, he had sent out an inter-ship memo thanking everyone for their condolences and that relaying that he was getting back to work.

And that had been that.

And Jim tried his best to convince himself that he was alright.

And he was failing miserably.

He struck the bag, sending a jolt of pain through his knuckles and up into his arm. Recoiling and shaking his hand with a wince, he steeled himself and began hitting again, this time with more focused precision.

_You don’t have to be sad, Jimmy. She wasn’t a good mother anyway._

_She left you with Frank. Frank made Sam leave. He sent you to Tarsus._

_And did she ever try and come get you?_

_Did she comfort you when you finally came home, emaciated and scared shitless of every shadow or noise?_

Jim grunted as he laid into the punching bag, his knuckles beginning to swell and turn red from the impacts. He could feel the hatred starting to boil in his veins.

_Go ahead, say it. You hate her._

_She never loved you._

_So don’t feel bad when you say…_

_…you never loved her either._

_Right?_

Kirk’s back was covered in a sheen of sweat, his gray tank top sticking to his flushed skin. He knew he was over-exerting himself, but he couldn’t stop. Instead, he began to alternate his punches with swift kicks, the bag starting to swing wildly every time his foot came in contact with it. His eyes started to sting, the telltale signs of moisture beginning to well up at the corners.

_Don’t you dare cry over her, dammit!_

_She’s not worth it!_

His breathing was becoming strained, each breath coming in a sharp gasp as he struck the bag. He could feel the power of his strikes intensifying as his rage began to come to a head. But it wasn’t only anger that threatened to do him in. An unquelchable sadness—that he had tried so hard to wash away—exposed his innermost weaknesses.

He willed himself not to cry.

_You left me!_

_How could you do that?_

_You left me with Frank!_

_Did you ever know what he did to me? To Sam?_

_How he beat me senseless? Broke my ribs? Sent me to the hospital?_

_But you didn’t even care!_

_You know why?_

_Because you weren’t there._

_You wanted to be as far away from us as possible._

_From me…_

_…from his ghost._

Jim’s knuckles were bleeding now, split open from the forceof his maniacal blows to the punching bag. The crimson liquid dripped down his hands and to his wrists, where it fell to the floor with a splatter. Every time he landed a punch, a small amount of the blood would go flying off his hands, leaving a spatter pattern on the wall next to him.

He felt as if he were on fire. His face was hot, his body shaking from the extreme emotional and physical beating it was undergoing. But he couldn’t stop.

Not until the pain subsided.

He couldn’t control himself; it was like he was spiraling downward with nothing to grab hold of. He desperately wanted this feeling to go away. He hated feeling so vulnerable. But the anger was too great. It wasn’t going to release him.

_Two years I spent on Tarsus!_

_You never once checked on me!_

_Not one letter or comm!_

_NOTHING!_

_And all that time Kodos was killing us!_

_It was like you didn’t even have a son._

_I was…_

_…an orphan._

Jim struck the bag so hard he thought for a moment his arm was going to shatter. He grabbed the bag, wrapping his arms tightly around it. He hung on for dear life, trying to catch his breath. His hands were bleeding, sweat cascading from every pore in his body. He tried to take a cleansing breath, but his mind was still racing—still trying to make him think about her.

Winona’s face popped into his head, smiling and cheerful. He had grown accustomed to not seeing that expression. Whenever she looked at him, her face was always drawn, a deep sadness in her eyes. The image of her in his brain snapped him.

Instantly, he unleashed a barrage of blows on the bag, sending it swinging crazily in all directions. Jim had to dodge it more than once as it swung back at him. And every time, he struck again, more and more power with each hit.

He was like an animal.

Out of control.

His hands flew at lightning speed, his heart beating so fast it felt as if it were going to explode out of his chest.

_You couldn’t even look at me without seeing him!_

_Instead of trying to work to remember him, you let him fall through the cracks because you couldn’t even bear to look your own son in the eyes!_

_Do you know how that made me feel?_

_Do you know what you did to me all those years?_

_You were a coward!_

_And…_

_…_

_…I loved you so much._

_Even though you didn’t deserve it…_

_…_

_.._

_._

_…I still loved you!_

Jim broke.

With a pained moan and one last punch, he collapsed. As his weary body slid down the wall, he began to weep. Everything that was left—all the ire, the sadness, the regret—all cascaded out, tears splattering on his hands as he brought them up to cradle his head.

He cried.

Because he was alone.


End file.
